You're a Couch, Harry
by WrongWriter
Summary: What if Harry Potter wasn't The Boy Who Lived, but was The Couch That Was Willed From The Potter Estate?
1. A Dreary Beginning

It was a dreary day at Number 4, Privet Drive. The kind of day where everyone stays inside and watches the telly or, if they aren't fond of happiness, plays Monopoly.

The Dursleys were doing no such activities today. Dudley had declared it to be a "cake kind of day" so the family was gathered in the sitting room, eating store bought pastries. Aunt Petunia nervously eyed the dwindling pile of baked goods and worried she'd need to break out the emergency cake she kept in the top of the pantry.

But this was a special day, dreariness and cake notwithstanding. A _magical_ kind of day, you might say, particularly if you're narrating this story. For on this day, the Dursleys would receive a special visitor, opening their eyes to possibilities they'd never considered. There was a knock at the door, and Dudley sprang to his feet, assuming it was another cake delivery.

"This one had best be chocolate or we aren't paying for it!" Dudley screamed, running to the door with a smile. He knew damn well the last cake they ordered was vanilla and caramel, but his parents wouldn't complain about more cake deliveries if he could keep getting them for free. He threw open the door. "I knew it! Wrong aga-" Dudley stared up at a half giant of a man, wearing a long coat and holding an umbrella. A motorcycle was parked behind him on the lawn.

"Harry? Is that you? Merlin's beard, you've let yourself go." The stranger didn't mince words.

"My name is Dudley and I! Ordered! CAKES!" Dudley had already run out of non-hunger emotions and started to kick the man's umbrella. The man, whom we'll call Hagrid, as he'll introduce himself shortly, stepped around Dudley and looked at Vernon and Petunia.

"The name's Hagrid, and I'm looking for one Harry Potter." Hagrid licked his lips while eyeing a small pile of danishes on the coffee table. He inched towards them as he spoke. "This isn't a kidnapping, but I will be taking him from your home whether you like it or not. I'm a friend of his dead parents and, long story short, they willed him to their old school." Hagrid could no longer resist the pastries on the table and started eating like a homeless man at a Sizzler. "You have until I finish these to fetch him."

"Now just hold on there, _sir_" began Uncle Vernon. "Dudley is the only child here. I've never heard of a Harry Potter. You have the wrong home."

Petunia looked thoughtful as she listened to Vernon bluster. Harry Potter did sound sort of familiar. Not as a child... Dudley didn't have any friends, and he only talked about cartoons and food. No, no. Where had she seen that name? She looked down, deep in thought, and it came to her.

"Ah! The couch!" Petunia jumped up. "Sir, the label on the couch says Harry Potter. I think that's the designer." Petunia was as ugly as she was stupid, and Hagrid told her as much.

"Lady, you're as ugly as you are stupid, and that's actually sort of impressive." Hagrid wiped his beard with his hand, then wiped his hand on his pants. "Obviously a wizard has turned young Harry into a couch for his own protection! Nobody would ever suspect a couch of defeating the greatest evil the world has ever known."

Harry Potter the couch didn't show any indication that he understood what was going on. He was, and continued to be, a comfortable spot for butts to rest, and absolutely nothing more.

Vernon was going on about not mentioning wizards and magic in his house, or whatever, but nobody was really listening. Hagrid shoved Petunia off the couch and leaned down to where her ass had been planted moments before. He sniffed deeply before speaking, because he's never known the touch of a woman and lacks most social graces.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Harry, but you're a wizard. Your parents were great wizards, and someday you'll be the greatest of them all." Hagrid wasn't sure what part of a couch is used to hear, so he alternately spoke at the arm rests, cushions, back, and feet. "I'll take you to Hogwarts and Dumbledore will get you sorted back to yourself."

At no point did Hagrid consider that a baby transformed into a couch wouldn't understand English, the concept of self, or anything other than remaining motionless and ready for people to sit on. Hagrid did have the intelligence to check the tag and make sure it really did say Harry Potter. Upon inspection, he remembered he was illiterate. Not wanting to make a fool out of himself in front of the family whose food he'd stolen and woman he'd smelled, he acted like it checked out.

"Right, let's load you up." Hagrid pointed his umbrella at the couch, and muttered under his breath. Strong ropes sprang forth and began tying themselves around the couch, which then floated to Hagrid's back and harnessed itself. "There, that should do it! We're off."

Hagrid attempted to leave, forgetting a couch won't fit through a doorway without being turned at least three times. Eventually he gave up on finesse and smashed through the doorway.

Once outside, he realized Dudley had unpacked everything in his motorcycle's saddle bags. The boy had been looking for cake this whole time, and he had actually found some! Dudley and Hagrid were like kindred spirits when it came down to self-inflicted diabetes, and Hagrid was never without travel snacks.

"Watch it boy, we're leaving!" Hagrid lumbered onto the bike, couch and all. "Go back inside and you can pick over whatever crumbs I've left."

But Dudley was distressed. "Where will I sit? You've stolen my couch! Who's buying us a new couch? Mummy says my butt deserves only the finest of furnitures." He continued like this for some time, but it didn't really matter because Hagrid was long gone, having answered none of these questions before flying away. Kidnapping and/or couchnapping are time sensitive matters, and he needed to get to Hogwarts immediately if not sooner.

"Yessir, Harry, we'll get you to Hogwarts right after I pop over to Diagon Alley for a couple brews." After a brief airborne journey, Hagrid started taking the bike down to some kind of broom landing area, or however people travel to Diagon Alley without filthy alleyways or Floo powder. Alcoholism was also a time sensitive matter, and Hagrid knew where his priorities lay. When a boy's been a couch for the last decade or so, a few more hours wouldn't hurt. After landing, Hagrid strode to his favorite pub like a man who didn't realize there was a couch lashed to his back. He remembered Harry only after failing to enter the door twice, and untied the ropes. Harry fell to the ground.

"Right, lad, I'll leave you in this here alley near the side exit, so you're out of everyone's way." It would also be a functional reminder for Hagrid; when he stepped into the alley to piss after a few rounds, he'd remember the couch. "Stay out of trouble, that's a good lad."

True to his nature, Harry couldn't stay out of trouble. After Hagrid disappeared into the bar, a magical prostitute and her wizarding John wandered into the alley and fell on top of Harry, having dispassionate magical intercourse on his velvety cushions. This situation would referenced in magical law school years in the future; if you have sex on top of a child that's been transformed into a couch, but he doesn't know he's a person, is it a sex crime?

After fluids and money were exchanged, the pair went on their way and nothing else eventful happened until Hagrid stumbled out of a side exit. He dropped his pants and revealed the human side of his heritage as he started pissing on Harry. He mumbled to himself incoherently before falling onto the soiled couch, attempting to fuck the space between cushions but failing to maintain an erection. He awoke a few hours later and zipped up.

"Right, don't tell Dumbledore about any of this and I'll buy you an owl." Hagrid was basically that creepy uncle nobody talks about at reunions and an after school special rolled into one. "Kids love owls, right? Right. We'll pick one out after you're back to normal and you've proven you can keep a secret." At this, Hagrid winked, and loaded Harry back up.

It was an uneventful trip to Hogwarts, and they were able to meet Dumbledore almost immediately. Dude was just shooting the shit with the paintings in his office.

"Headmaster, I've terrible news. Harry Potter has been turned into a couch! Can you fix him, sir? Imagine, a hero of his stature as a couch. Please, sir. Fix him. Fix him and ignore anything he says about the trip." Hagrid lied like a three year old caught stealing a cookie. "Nothing sexual happened between us but I'm worried he might think it did."

"Uh, well, right. Yes. Let's get this fixed, shall we?" Dumbledore ignored the obvious coverup as well as the implications of sexual abuse. He was more than used to sexual harassment complaints about Hagrid by this point. In fact, twice over the summer Hagrid had been caught masturbating in front of Mrs. Norris under the assumption it was Professor McGonagall in her Animagus form. Dumbledore's memory charms were the best in the land, however, and he'd be damned if there was any kind of sex scandal at his school. Other than the constant outbreaks of magical herpes among the higher years, but without funding for a Magical Abstinence class, what was he to do? Lucius Malfoy denied any kind of sex ed spending, or even free condoms available at the nurse's office. And that was, frankly, ridiculous, because they could just transfigure any old thing into a condom, couldn't they? It didn't even require money. But no, none of their magic was allocated for safe sex.

"You win this time, magical herpes." Dumbledore muttered aloud. Hagrid overheard but politely ignored the comment. Overlooking the eccentricities of the man that keeps you employed despite your many, many personal and professional failings was just common courtesy. He did need to get Dumbledore back on track, however.

"Erm, yes, Headmaster, I'm sure you'll beat it in time. But, Harry...?" Hagrid trailed off as he saw reason come back into Dumbledore's eyes.

Dumbledore gestured with his wand and the couch began to glow red. The glow cycled through the colors of a rainbow, but nothing else happened. "I see, hmm, yes, quite tricky. This isn't a standard transfiguration." Dumbledore revealed. "No, this is a _curse_, and I'm not certain I can break it."


	2. The Hogwarts Express

Hagrid was stunned by Dumbledore's casual revelation. "You can't break it, Headmaster? Truly? Then... what will happen to Harry?"

Dumbledore fiddled with a few things on his desk that had no relevance to anything. "I'll keep him here and see what I can deduce about the curse, Hagrid. Why don't you run along and pretend to maintain the grounds or whatever." Hagrid turned and started to leave. Truth be told, he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in at least an hour, and that far outweighed his concern for a couch, person or no. "Just stay away from the women's restrooms and dormitories, please."

After Hagrid left the office, Dumbledore started on some heavy wandwork. Each spell left him more confused than the last. "Don't worry, Harry! I don't know the how or why of this situation, of course, but we'll get you sorted out. Aurors, curse breakers, whatever it takes! Well, in reason." Dumbledore looked down and considered. "Not like we'll be asking any of the former Slytherins for help, if you know what I mean. Why, it's likely one of them found you and cursed you into a couch to begin with! No, no, best to go with our motley crew."

The strange thing was, after all his examinations, it felt like the couch wasn't even a person. But that was preposterous. The label clearly read Harry Potter - Dumbledore, being literate, could verify this - but none of his spells registered the couch as sentient. A most nefarious curse, indeed.

"My boy, while I consult with some other learned wizards, we'll get you in classes and keep you on pace for magical graduation." Dumbledore pulled a supply list from a drawer and rang a house elf to go shopping. There was no way Harry could go himself, and sending Hagrid to Diagon Alley was just asking for an accident. Dumbledore shuddered as he remembered the last bar tab Hagrid had charged to the school. No, better to send a slave elf. Shit, no, house elf, Dumbledore silently corrected himself. Slave elf was what they could call each other, but it wasn't his word to use, and dammit he was trying to be progressive. The elf gave Dumbledore a look, a look that said he knew what the old white wizard thought about his people. But slavery paid the bills, as it were, so the elf vanished to start shopping.

Magical days or weeks later, Harry found himself on the Hogwarts Express for some inexplicable reason. Which is to say the couch currently known as Harry was loaded in a cargo car with no other students around. Some arcane rule forbid first years from being on the grounds before they arrived for sorting, so there was nothing for it but to take Harry to Platform 9 3/4 and load him up. Hargid and Professor Flitwick had initially tried to prop him up on a chair, so he could make conversation with children his own age, but he just couldn't be made to fit in any of the compartments. So it was the dusty, unlit cargo car for the hero of the wizarding world.

A young boy nervously opened the cargo door then, and revealed himself as Neville Longbottom. Not hot Neville from the end of the movies. This is old school, awkward and homely at best Neville. Best-friend-is-a-non-magical-toad Neville, as it were. He rifled through the compartment looking for ol' Trevor the Toad, to no avail. He decided to have a nap on the well-worn couch sitting in the center of the car. Unfortunate, really, because Trevor was under one of the cushions and was crushed immediately. But Neville would never know. Probably drive him mad with guilt, if he found out. Mental disorders run in the family and all.

Neville eventually woke up and left, and nothing else interesting happened on the train. Which is to say, the train itself was full of magic, and wonder, and millions of possibilities for young witches and wizards who were just beginning their magical lives. But nothing interesting from a couch's point of view, especially one that can't talk or laugh or use magic.

Harry was loaded into a boat upon arrival at Hogwarts. More rules regarding first years that were clearly not written with couches in mind. Harry took up an entire boat and was given an odd look by virtually all the other first years. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle tried to make fun of the stupid couch, but it's difficult if not impossible to throw shade at a couch that can ignore your barbs completely, so they stopped after realizing nobody thought they were clever.

Harry was unloaded and seated at a large table in the dining hall, while start-of-year speeches were given and food was served. Dumbledore eyed Harry from his seat, and directed a house elf to try and feed Harry something, anything, so the boy could enjoy himself.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the Headmaster insists." The elf, who will remain nameless as a point of his overall irrelevance, apologized as he forced food onto the Couch Formerly Known as Harry. "Please, sir, eat up and enjoy. We slaved all day in the kitchens for this, sir. That's our word, mind, so don't think we're friends enough to use it."

As the elf scooped pudding under Harry's cushions, coating the squished toad from earlier, a young girl with bushy hair spoke up. "Oh, a house elf? I didn't know everything we were eating was elf made." It was absolutely Hermione, if that wasn't obvious. "I've read some books and I'm not certain I'm comfortable with your living or working conditions. I shouldn't support forced labor..."

The elf gritted his teeth and poured pumpkin juice onto Harry, not honestly caring whether the couch was enjoying itself. He let his silent rage build. "Think of the uprising," he thought to himself. "Soon, yes, but not this day. Not yet."

After making a complete mess of Harry, and immediately restoring him to a free-at-the-curb sort of condition with elf magic, the elf vanished. Hermione looked at the couch and considered introducing herself, but stopped because that would be ridiculous. My boy Ron, though. This guy. Tell him a couch is a kid and he just goes with it, bless his dumb heart.

"So, couch, word on the train is you're secretly..." Ron lowered his voice, trying and failing to keep his one sided conversation with a couch a secret from his future classmates. "_Harry Potter_."

Harry had nothing to say to this, but Ron took that silence as acceptance. He saw the label, yes, Harry Potter, very good. No reason to doubt that. "So, Harry, what's your favorite Quidditch team? I bet you've seen loads of great matches, sitting in front of the telly all day. Blimey, maybe you've even learned enough to join a team here."

"First years aren't allowed on Quidditch teams! It's against the rules." Hermione said, but heard someone yelling the exact same thing. She whipped her hair back and forth, until she spotted Draco behind the other end of the couch. Draco continued, "But my Daddy says I can have whatever position I'd like on the Slytherin team, because we practice something called _nepotism_."

"Come off it, Malfoy. They won't change the rules just for you." Ron wasn't even close to sure of this as he spoke. Again, he lowered his voice and confided to his new best friend, the couch. "If they'll make an exception for anyone, it'll be you, Harry. They have to, right? Boy Who Lived, and all."

Again, Harry had no words or frame of reference for this conversation. In usual stoic fashion, he contributed nothing but a quite sort of strength to the conversation. Ron nodded, as if Harry had agreed.

At the front of the room, Dumbledore clapped his hands. "All right, children, let's settle down." Dumbledore paused while everyone finished their conversations. Hermione was watching attentively, but she could swear she saw the large man at the end of the head table gesturing to Harry. He used two fingers to point to his eyes, then the couch, putting a finger to his lips, then running a finger across his throat.

"Now then." Dumbledore began. "If we've all had our fill, and everyone is ready..." Here, Dumbledore produced a large hat that absolutely did not sing, because that's not realistic or believable in the slightest. "...now, the Sorting can begin."


End file.
